


Reticent Rebounds

by FlamingPotatoArson



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Basketball AU, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Male Character, Blacking Out, Championship, Cheerleader Lance, Co-ed team, Coran is the coach, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Delinquent Lance, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gen, Haggar and Zarkon coach their old school and Lotor betrayed them by going to another school, Hospitals, Italin Pidge, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, Keith is called Samurai bc his corssovers, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance be injuried, Lance can jump, Lance has asthma, Literally came up with this on the fly, M/M, Matt is the manager, Multi, Pidge | Katie Holt is Savage, Pining, Polyamory, Possibly dancing, Samoan Hunk (Voltron), Slow Burn, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tournaments, VCD, a thing in basketball, crossovers, klance, sharpshooter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingPotatoArson/pseuds/FlamingPotatoArson
Summary: Lance has been playing basketball since he was five. Barely big enough to dribble, he'd tag along with his older brother and cargo shorts wearing sister, watching the older kids dunk and make fun trick shots to show off to their friends. He'd eaten sticky popsicles from the old timey ice cream truck that magically showed up in the heat waves of summer. Sure he had a nice three pointer, and a pretty good lay-up, but his free throws were crappy and no, he did not want to join your basketball team Keith Kogane!Keith refuses to give up, even if the guy's a jackass at first. The Voltron Lions need a big break, and no offence, but Allura and Matt aren't cutting it anymore. Not if they wanna beat the Daibazaal Devils and put Voltron back in the rankings. Sure, it's just a highschool co-ed basketball team, but Shiro always threw himself all in for Keith. Now it was Keith's turn.He just had to throw himself all in at Lance.Yeah, it wasn't going too well.





	Reticent Rebounds

**Author's Note:**

> I went to an ENT and he told me I have tiny ear canals so I'm self projecting onto Keith and I also have no idea if Lance's skin care is legit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went to an ENT and he told me I have tiny ear canals so I'm self projecting onto Keith and also I completely have no idea if Lance's skin routine is legit.

Greasy hamburger disks sizzled on the grill, eagerly popping, occasionally louder than the chatter of customers outside the service window, which was really just a counter his co-worker convinced Sal to install. His metal spatula easily flipped one, apron protecting his shirt from hot splatters. His co-worker was Sal's go to cook, and Lance the best waiter, but the cook was off, and Nyma and Rolo were not to be trusted with fire. So here he was. Flipping burgers and making fries until his shift was over. 

The fryer broiled.

"Order 89,301!"

A cheeseburger and side of Cajun fries was picked up and balanced on a plastic tray, Nyma tossing him a sly smirk and wink before skating away, knee-length shirt fluttering an ugly shade of ketchup red. Red was much harder to stain than white, but a small strip of it still ran down the middle of her blouse. 

Lance busily assorted condiments and toppings while the burgers cooked, getting ready for a rapid cooking sequence he did whenever the after school rush of teenagers swarmed in. Teenagers he went to school with. Teenagers that stayed out of his way, not fearing or praising him, just reading blindly into the "delinquent" aura Ronnie said he gave off when he went to school. 

So yeah, not his fault he didn't have any good friends. The masses rejected him as a whole. 

Rolo and Nyma were seniors, and he didn't share any classes with them, but he hung out and worked with them at Sal's Vibe, a burger-slash-pizza place, depending on the day and staff. And he played basketball with them whenever they showed up at the court, neither of which helped his reputation. Sure, he was a mama's boy and a dork, and he never got in major trouble, but...

...no one else really seemed to care about that.

It did make it easier for him to observe people though, like his co-worker and his friends. Tsuyoshi - that was his real name, Lance couldn't remember what everyone else called him- liked to babble on when they both worked in the kitchen together, which wasn't often considering he was a much better one-man cooking machine than Lance. He talked on about his friends just as much as engineering and food, neither of which really grabbed his attention. But it _was_ nice hearing about his friends and the funny adventures they got into, like the one time the one obsessed with a knife got stuck on the school roof and tried using old tarps as a rope to climb into a second story classroom ("-opposed to a third! I swear-") freshman year. He  _did_ vaguely remember something like that being passed around. 

And he was pretty sure the same one came to Sal's once a week, to order exactly what Lance had just given Nyma. 

Before readying his spatula to move the burgers to their specific plates, he looked out the window. In front of rain streaked glass, a Korean teen chewed on spicy fries, red hoodie pooling into giant sleeves, alone in a booth. That annoyingly cute ponytail brushing against his neck in short, candid curls. Thick eyebrows naturally furrowed in that angry-adorable way, smooth forehead tipped against the glass. Tiny (maybe it was the distance?) ears with cheap earbuds angled into them.

Lance turned away to finish orders 89,302 through 89,311.

* * *

Four hours later and the rain had stopped, leaving an earthy, washed out kind of smell that Lance made sure to take deep breathes of as he walked.

The soft breeze was refreshing, wiping away the discomfort of hours in a stuffy kitchen, and ruffling his hair. The concrete was soaked a darker color under his carefree steps, jacket swinging around his waist. Trees dripped water overhead, leaving tiny, temporary darker blue spots on his tank top, and disappearing into his hair. Without passing cars, the street was peacefully quiet.

_"LANCE!"_

Okay so ignore the "peaceful" and "quiet".

His little brother, Luis, screamed, flip flops slapping loudly against the concrete, band aids stuck to his arms, oversized tank top (Lance was pretty sure it was his) and cargo shorts wrinkled, baseball glove under his arm. Practice must have just let out for him, judging by the dirt smeared on his cheeks. "What'd Mama say about cleaning your face?" Lance cuts him off when he get close enough, licking his thumb and rubbing at the dirt. "Ack-" Louis struggles, smile screwed up in discomfort, so Lance grabs his head to force him still. He knew what it was like to be a little brother running from a licked thumb, but he also knew the horrors of clogged pores. He had to save Luis from that.

"Lance!" Luis breaks free when he loosens his grip, jumping back, arms raised to prevent a second attack. Lance lets a small smile stretch across his mouth, and says "Yeah, Luis?" "Let's play basketball at the courts! Please!" 

How could he say no to his little brother's puppy eyes?

* * *

 "Left, right, left, right, left, right..."

Luis pressed his fingertips into the rubber, practicing a pattern Lance knew he'd ingrain into himself sooner or later. He'd learned it younger, with two big siblings, and a natural sense of rhythm, but Luis liked other things, and Lance was okay with that. They were both casual players, but could understand the urge to go pro and forget things like law or medicine. Though Lance knew he'd end up somewhere dependent on his advanced courses. But that would be then, not now. For now, he could focus on his family, on Marco's films, on Veronica's graffiti, on Luis' baseball, on Abuela's piano, on Granddad's knitting, on Mama's laughter. That's all he needed. Right then and right now.

His eyes followed the dribbling patterns and those made him think about infinity against the asphalt. Stars formed and died in seconds, others spinning and dancing for centuries, galaxies twisting and twirling in decay and life, greens and golds and purples shining in front of rough, familiar gray shaded black in the setting sun's shadow. Lance was aware of the sunset behind him as he was his heartbeat, the world around him recognized through a dim veil of vagueness. He could see Luis' hands, separate from the eternity beneath his feet. The wind pushed against his curly hair, a gentle twilight air. Lance knew he'd have to go home, but he didn't want to be disrupted yet.

He stared at infinity.

* * *

The spell broke eventually. 

Lance opened the front door, softly pushing Luis inside to wash up before dinner. He stepped inside, hand automatically locking the door as he stepped on his heels and pulled his feet out of his shoes. Unusually spicy smells enter his nose when he takes a quiet whiff, voices and clattering coming from the kitchen. He walks inside and leans in the doorway, Ronnie and Marco at the table and Mama stirring a pot on the stove. "I'm just saying, if you're going to destroy something, why bother caring about what other people do to it? It's so backwards. Like people talking about  _[Back to the Future](https://www.google.com/search?q=talking+about+back+to+the+future+in+1955+stupid+people&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiNnK-Y05DcAhVC5IMKHZddCQQQ_AUICigB&biw=1366&bih=651#imgrc=raTMLRyORz87OM:)_[in 1955."](https://www.google.com/search?q=talking+about+back+to+the+future+in+1955+stupid+people&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiNnK-Y05DcAhVC5IMKHZddCQQQ_AUICigB&biw=1366&bih=651#imgrc=raTMLRyORz87OM:) Veronica's knockoff black converse twitch in the wooden chair she's propped them up in. Marco disinterestedly hums from his textbook on the other side of the table, writing something in a notebook. His class was going to have an advanced writing contest, and the winners would get extra credits. Marco, Lance knew, would pull several all nighters if it meant extra credits. Even if he was a shit writer.  

"Hmm, you know what else makes no sense? You're rambling about an old building while I cook and the chicken needs to be cut. " Mama raised one Cuban coffee colored eyebrow and pointed a dripping spoon at the cutting board on the counter across the room. Veronica groaned, dramatically throwing her head back, messy ponytail and curly strands falling behind the back of the chair. It had the same fluffy volume and wave as his and Mama's did, but Lance usually combed his out. " _Mama..."_ she whined. Lance sighed in the doorway, but his smile held soft amusement for his sister's antics.

He quietly walks in, Marco ignoring him, turning the page in favor of a greeting. Veronica lazily watches him, lighter blue eyes following him around the room, while Mama scrapes vegetables into the pot. He washes his hands, then dries them on one of the plain red hand clothes before picking up a knife. Not paying too much attention to his fingers, he methodically cuts the chicken into bite sized pieces. The fridge gives off a near silent hum next to him. The back door is open, letting a breeze in, but the screen door is locked to keep bugs out. Piano drifts down the staircase and he wonders if Mama would fuss over Abuela. She wasn't weak in her old age, walking around with a straight back and a weathered strength to her skin, but it didn't make Mama magically not worry about her.

"Don't you _'Mama'_ me, Veronica Riley McClain. I'd make you do it, but your _younger_ brother has it covered. Thank you, Lance."

"No problem Mama." 

She scoops up the chicken into a ladle and it floats out into the broth like little boats on the sea. He wonders if stirring it would make a whirlpool.

"You're such a Mama's boy."

Lance turns and Veronica snorts, picking dried paint out from under her nails. There's bits of cream the same color as the kitchen walls, and chunks of blue like the accents and trim, but mostly, there's an electric apple green, and it makes her look like she's picking globs of evil magic from her fingertips. Lance knows she isn't a witch, but boy, in the moment, she feels like a mean one. He just rolls his eyes though, because he's quite familiar with this evil-y magic. Ignoring it usually helps.

"What, that's a bad thing? I do my chores and listen, and _I_ get to do what I want, while _you're_ stuck in your room. Being a Mama's boy beats being grounded any day." 

He hears the quiet, low whistle Mama lets out over the soup, and see's Marco's shoulders jump, Ronnie just makes a huffing noise but keeps picking at her nails, clearly giving up in her own little way.

Lance knows his smile is a little more smug, but it's still just as soft.

* * *

After telling Abuela and Granddad goodnight, while Marco and Veronica wash the dishes from dinner, Lance heads up to his room. The layout of the house is a little weird, but Lance crawled around it as a baby, so he's confident in his ability to not run into the old piano, or to bang his knee on the window seat as he slides between them. The second story is a bit smaller than the first, with thicker walls and a widening staircase, but it houses him and his siblings well enough. A small bathroom is situated between him and Luis, who's door is open just a crack, lights out. He passes both his and Veronica's rooms, and the bathroom to peek inside and see a sleeping mess of limbs and sheets on the bed. Airplanes hang from the ceiling, models he and Marco spent hours on. Baseball posters of famous players like Babe Ruth share space with simple, but creative pieces he made with Veronica. Video games like the original Pokémon and Killbot Phantasm I are turned on, but blink green in sleep mode. One is plugged up, and it burns red, so Luis couldn't have been asleep too long. 

They have school tomorrow. 

Groaning inwardly at the thought of how hard Luis is going to be to wake tomorrow, Lance steps back and slips into the bathroom. Cursing himself for sharing his love of video games with a thirteen year old too close to the school year, he uses the restroom and washes his hands before starting his facial routine. Creamy blue-green clay dries into a hard, rough mask while he rubs moisturizer into his skin, paying extra attention to his neck. He's careful not to over do it though, not wanting the smell of _Sour Sea Breeze_ forever. His phone buzzes fifteen minutes later, and he peels it off in one satisfying piece before washing with exfoliator. Patting his face dry, he blindly, but correctly, puts the bottles back in their proper spots and turns on the water. Quickly, he tosses the cloth behind his shoulder, and unscrews the toothpaste tube while it falls into the hamper. He brushes his teeth, liking the minty fresh feeling in his mouth, and gargles berry flavored mouth wash. 

He turns the lights off and yawns, socked feet padding towards his room. Halfway there, he blearily sees Marco disappearing into his bedroom out of the corner of his eye, but the light stays on. 

Great, two brothers who are going to be a grumpy pain in the neck in the morning.

He guesses Veronica is still downstairs, and crosses his fingers that he won't have to help Mama wake up three sleep zombies. Shutting his door behind him, he glances out his bed room window to the real stars, not the fake glow in the dark stars he has plastered all over his room. A neon blue lava lamp glows with them from his dresser, which holds plenty of space themed clothing he wears around the house. He pulls some of it on, and hooks his jacket up on the door. He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, preferring to let his stars light his room, so he can dimly see NASA posters and star charts besides them. If Lance had to describe his room in one word, it was cozy, he decides as he lays down against his pile of pillows. Burrowing into his blanket, he shoves his dark blue comforter to the foot of his bed, which neatly sat in it's own little alcove. The best part of his room was the wide "L" shape it made, with just enough room to push his bed into the excess, and give it a square shape and a homely feel. 

His candles even made it smell like caramel frappuccino. 


End file.
